


Bad Idea!

by hospittalbracelett



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No IT (King), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M, Panic Attacks, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hospittalbracelett/pseuds/hospittalbracelett
Summary: It was a bad ideaNeeding you so lateWas such a bad idea'Cause I can't think straightOr in other words, Richie doesn't know how to handle his feelings.
Relationships: Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Bad Idea!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I know I've said I'm going to update my series asap but I lied here's a stozier one-shot haha. I know reddie is the most canon compliant ship, but i really like stozier too. I feel like Stan and Richie would call each other best friends even when they were more just because they wouldn't know how to confront each other so this fic reflects that a bit!

The walk, or rather stumble, home from Richie's first high school party felt like a trance. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but he had enough sense to trust wherever his body was leading him.

The loud bass and flashing lights lingered in his mind in the form of a throbbing headache. He was only there for an hour and a half, but it was so eventful that it felt like an eternity. 

He didn't remember taking a left turn instead of right, but it led him straight to Stanley's house. It wasn't appropriate to show up at his friend's home unannounced and slightly inebriated, which Richie was completely aware of. He didn't have the energy or motor skills to take himself to his real house though, so he settled with staying. He glanced over at the empty driveway as he trudged onto his best friend's porch. Richie rang the doorbell six times; it was a bit ironic that he couldn't remember to go his own home, but he could still remember the exact number that kept Stan from going off the edge. 

He waited there for a moment, leaning against the frame of the front door. Richie was eventually greeted with a confused, but welcoming, Stanley Uris. He motioned for Richie to come in and reached over the boy's shoulder to close the door behind them.

"Rich? I thought you were gonna go to Greta's party," the boy said softly. Stan looked Richie up and down and realized that he most likely  _ did  _ go to the party. Richie's hair stuck up in all directions, his glasses fell a bit too far to the left, and there was an unidentifiable magenta stain across his button-up. All of these things made Stan want to scream, yet he managed to put his nervous tendencies aside to worry about his friend. He repeated in his head that nobody was going to Hell for dirty clothes until the thought passed his mind. 

"Yeah, it sucked though. I might've gotten outed in front of everyone… me and Henry got in a fight and then he called me a fag and made a huge scene and I felt so embarassed and now I feel like nothing so I'm here now." Richie was notorious for his rambling, but there was at least life in his nonsense that normally kept people engaged. There wasn't any passion behind Richie's words, which kept Stan's attention for the wrong reasons.

"Woah, wait- what? What ha-"

"I don't wanna talk about it, I just wanna take my mind off it. Is that cool?" Richie interrupted Stan in a desperate tone. His voice cracked, and Stan would've made a snide remark in any other circumstance, but the boy refrained from twisting a curl of hair and scoffing. 

"Yeah, yeah that's cool. Uh, do you want me to help you clean up or can you do it yourself?"

Richie paused and looked down at his muddy socks, not remembering when he took his shoes off on the doorstep. "Can you help me?" 

He nodded, grabbing Richie's wrist and leading him upstairs. "I'm gonna get some spare clothes from my room so give me a second. Wait in the bathroom, alright?"

Richie eyed appropriate places to sit in Stan's bathroom and settled with slumping in his bathtub. The room was neat- too neat for Richie- so he chose a spot that was easiest to clean. 

Stan appeared in the doorway with a folded stack of sweatpants and baseball undershirt. Richie didn't even know Stan  _ owned _ any pants that weren't khakis, aside from his baseball uniform. He set the clothes on the toilet seat and bent over Richie to start unbuttoning his shirt. 

"Jeez, at least take me to dinner first!" Richie shot Stan a half smile, but realized it was too soon when he noticed the boy's lack of amusement. Richie wasn't very amused by his own joke either, if he was being honest with himself. The overwhelming feeling of numbness overpowered his need for a lighthearted moment. "I um- sorry… thank you for helping me."

Stan let out a quiet hum as a form of acknowledgment. Richie shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and pulled his glasses off of his face. He hopped out of the tub and leaned against the side as Stan got up to grab the spare shirt.

Before putting the shirt over Richie's head, Stan paused with a worried expression on his face. 

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Richie questioned to break the silence. 

"There's something in your hair… I can't tell what it is," Stan retorted as he leaned in closer to Richie. "Why are you staring at  _ me  _ like that?" 

Richie decided to respond to that question by leaning in further and pressing his lips against Stan. It was abrupt, rough. He grabbed his dirty blonde curls with desperation, taking in the forced sensation. 

Stan kissed back at first; the two have kissed before so it wasn't an earth-shattering situation. They were best friends so they did stupid stuff like experiment with each other. It didn't mean much, or at least that's what they told each other. He was uncomfortable with the aggression Richie was giving him, but attempted to ease it with a gentler approach. Stan realized this attempt was a failure when Richie pinned the boy to the floor and practically started grinding on him. 

"Richie- Richie, stop." There was a mix of firmness and fear in Stan's voice as he grabbed Richie's shoulders. Apparently the firmness left more of an impact for the boy on top of him because he immediately froze up. Stan sat the both of them upright, still holding onto him.

"I'm sorry, I should've asked. Is it- is it ok? Can we make out? I don't have to be on top of you, you can do that if you want, I just- I need to- I want- I just- I- fuck… please Stan-"

"Richie I don't wanna do anything with you right now… you're not in the right headspace, it's not a good idea."

"I drank like two shots, I'm tipsy at most! I want this!" Richie was squirming in Stan's arms in an attempt to fight his reason.

"Richie,  _ I  _ don't want this… I don't care if you didn't have a single shot or if you downed a hundred, you're emotionally vulnerable right now. I'm not gonna take advantage of you like this."

"I'm not- fuck- I just- fuck-"

Richie's breath was unsteady with his heart unable to decide if it wanted to speed up or slow down. He instantly regretted every time he poked fun at Eddie's asthma, because he realized he wouldn't be able to handle if breathing was that difficult  _ all the time _ . It was difficult to decide if the zoned out nothingness was better or worse than being painfully aware of everything, but knowing that his tongue couldn't sit comfortably in his mouth was eating at him either way. He was still shifting uncomfortably in Stan's grip, but there wasn't as much force behind it.

"Rich, stop fighting me… please," Stan reasoned with a pinch of pity in his voice. He pulled Richie into his chest, rubbing circles on the boy's heaving shoulders. He planted a kiss on the top of Richie's horrendously matted hair and rested his chin there while he listened for a steadier breathing pattern. 

"I'm tired," was all Richie managed to say after cooling down from whatever emotions he just experienced. In a way, he did get the intimacy he wanted. It wasn't in the form of sloppy kisses or regrettable grinding, but rather simply being held. Richie embraced this subtle intimacy as he slowly slipped out of consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Hii I hope you enjoyed! I kind of want to write more stozier one-shots so expect that maybe lol. Kudos and comments are appreciated! xx


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